… but I could. Boy howdy, could I ever.
But I won’t. Not really.
It isn’t for lack of material, that’s for sure. He has provided ample fodder of late. I mean, I could write scathing posts about how he was asking someone else out while we were still supposedly exclusive. Or really let him have it for trading texts on Christmas Day with a girl who was stripper. (Classy, no?) Yes, indeed, I have some draft posts that would scald your eyes to read them. But they will never be published.
This is all the cyber world will hear of his transgressions and failures. These tidbits of vitriol, in this short post, is all that I’ll publicly hurl at his well-deserving reputation.
Don’t worry, I’ve let him have all of it. Okay, not all of it, but close. I told him that he’s made me regret loving him, regret being so good and kind to him, regret having ever met him. I told him to stay away from me and my children. And I meant every word. My blinders are off and the truth is like a hot white light in my eyes.
In my quiet moments, I have silently raged at him for not living up to the potential I saw in him. I have hated myself for my silliness in believing that we’d shared anything remotely special. I have chastised myself for the loving words and delighted posts dedicated to him on this blog.
But here’s the good news: I am almost worn out of it. I can feel the shock and anger and disappointment and disgust spinning off and away, as if down some metaphorical drain to join the sludge of relationships drowned in deceptions and lies and mistrust. I can feel it all sliding off of me and leaving me tired and calm and clean again. Ahhhh….
I have taken every step I can to insure that he is nowhere near my life, this man whom I loved such a short time ago, and yet didn’t really know at all. I have determinedly turned my back on him and our past and have begun quietly re-ordering my life so as to fill the spaces left by his departure.
There will be ample time for reflection, and — knowing me — I will likely do more than is necessary. But for right now, I am simply being. I am working and mothering and resting and dreaming of the days when my heart will be more consistently light again.
My decision to end the James portion of my blog and my life here and now has nothing to do with him. I am not protecting his reputation or privacy. I am definitely not trying to curry favor with him or give him any hope that I might still respect him. No, this is entirely about me. Foolish as it was, I loved him, and I did so for as long and as well as I could, purely and completely and without guile or an agenda. I accepted his flaws that I knew about and defended him to those who attacked him. I worked really hard at the relationship and treated it with honor and integrity.
And I’m not going to ruin that now.
I refuse to demean myself by casting all the stones my broken heart would so sorely like to hurtle. I refuse to abandon the good breeding my parents instilled in me. I refuse to diminish what I thought we had just because he was too stupid and undeserving to value it.
So, with that I will end my James story. Surely his name will surface from time to time, but I am reclaiming the part of my life that he owned. I will not allow him to take anything more from me.
Hello, Rest of My Life.